


Don't Touch The Shades

by gingerbread man (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also a horror movie, But Vriska breaks John's glasses, Cuddles, Dave kisses John's boo-boos better, Eye, Fluff, Hands, He actually does it, I mean someone does get punched, John breaks Vriska's glasses, John pulls the "I have a boo-boo on my lips too" line, John punches Vriska, Kisses, Lol I have so much shit to update, M/M, Most of my fics do, Pretty cute I guess, Probably sucks though, Seriously guys just kisses, That's cliche as fuck, This also isn't a joke, This is a real thing, This isn't a drill, This isn't a joke, Violence, What even are these tags?, as always, i guess?, kisses everywhere, lips, nose, t+ for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/gingerbread%20man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't know why you'd done it.</p><p>Punching girls isn't cool, it's never cool. Your dad would be angry.</p><p>But she'd threatened to break his shades, so that was incentive enough, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Touch The Shades

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, what? I have three stories to update.
> 
> And I wrote this.
> 
> Brain can you not.
> 
> I sincerely apologize if this is horrible.
> 
> Also my titles always fucking suck??? What is that bullshit. So do my descriptions, like for real, what the fucking hell?

You honestly don’t know why you’d done it. First of all, she’s a girl -- punching girls is never cool, no matter the circumstance. Second of all, you don’t hate anyone, ever. Not enough to wail off and slam your fist into their face, at least. Why had she been any different? Why? Your knuckles (on both hands) are bleeding, glass shards from her own glasses trapped in your hands. Your nose is also bleeding, and your eye hurts like a bitch; you’re also one-hundred percent sure your glasses are cracked.

And Dave is telling you you’re an idiot. On repeat.

Okay, maybe you should start from the beginning. For starters, your name is John Egbert and you’re in ninth grade. You have buckteeth and are bullied about these aforementioned teeth on a daily basis, but you’ve grown used to it so the bullies honestly don’t get under your skin anymore. You’re generally a nice person, to everyone, even people who are complete dicks to you -- Karma’s a bitch. But there’s one person you just can’t stand, and she doesn’t even bully you! Her name is Vriska Serket and she’s only a mere grade above you.

She only made fun of you once, then said you didn’t give her enough of a reaction, and that you were cute so she’d probably let you alone from thereon. You’d learned from rumors and a few of your older friends that she’ll date/flirt/fuck anything with two legs, but you’re not entirely sure you believe that. You try not to judge unless it’s a known fact. About halfway through your first year of high school, Vriska started flirting with you relentlessly. Always way too nice to you. Leaning a little too close. Getting in your personal space and all but shoving her breasts in your face. She isn’t very good at subtlety. And you might date her, because she’s pretty.

Her hair is long, you guess? It reaches her mid-back. One half of it is dyed blue, pretty much the same color as her (and your) eyes. The other half is blonde. She has a plethora of piercings, from her lips and ears to her stomach. Her skin is pale, probably because she rarely gets sun exposure. But despite all of her beauty (you especially like her blue lipstick) you still hate her with a passion. Because she may not pick on you, but she does tease your best bro, Dave Strider. Now, okay, it probably sounds pretty crude that you’re denying the affections of a girl for your friend. But the two of you have been best bros since kindergarten, so obviously you aren’t going to pick a girl over him.

That’d be silly.

She doesn’t really bully anyone. It’s just Dave. You can’t figure out why, for the life of you, but goddamn are you determined to find out one of these days. He gets picked on every once and a while, the name everyone usually jumps to being “sunglasses douche” which is pretty stupid, you have to admit. That’s what Vriska always calls him, and he ignores her well, because he’s a coolkid and that’s what coolkids do. Ignore trouble. Or maybe he finds it ironic? You don’t know with Dave. You’ve been friends for ten years, and he’s still an enigma to you.

Vriska insults him nonchalantly. Like, he’ll do something uncool, and she’ll mention just how ironic it is that he’s supposedly cool yet he’s super anti-cool. Yes, that’s exactly how she says it, you aren’t exaggerating. Usually you’ll just brush it off, because if Dave isn’t angry about it, why should you be? It isn’t like she’s picking on you. You let it slide, until one day when she actually works up the (metaphorical) balls to call him sunglasses douche and then take his sunglasses. You’ve never seen Dave’s eyes for yourself, but you know they’re red, not to mention extremely sensitive to bright lights.

And you step in. So what if it isn’t your business? Your best bro, your business. You’ll break your nice exterior and dig out whatever mean parts of you exist to get those shades back from Vriska, because it isn’t fair for her to just steal his things like that. You have always been in favor of being an asshole to help your buddies out. “Um, listen, Vriska. I understand you like picking on Dave, for whatever reason? But those shades mean a lot to him. Also he’s sensitive to the light. So if you could just give them back, that would be pretty great.” You say, and are thankful it comes out nice. Good. You guess you weren’t really an asshole about it, after all.

She tugs at a strand of her blue hair and laughs. “You don’t know why I tease him! Ah, so precious, so naive. I think I’ll just keep these shades for myself,” Is her initial response, forever a Drama Queen. Sometimes, you think she may actually be the Overlord of Drama, but you’d never say that to her face. “I could always break them! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

You don’t know why you do it. Really, you don’t.

Your fist flies forward on its own accord and collides with Vriska’s face, and you hear a snap when the left lens of her glasses breaks. She tries to retaliate, and your body seems to have a mind of its own, so you throw a second punch and the right lens snaps. You pluck the shades from her hand, give them to Dave, and turn back. You feel like you deserve to be punched. Jesus, you just hit a girl! Your dad is going to be pissed. Hitting girls is not cool. Your knuckles are pulsing, or in more childish terms they have a heartbeat. Vriska punches you in return.

Both of your lenses snap at once. Your nose bleeds like Niagra Falls, and before she strolls off with her posse (bleeding right from her nose, mind you) she spits on you and flips you off. You actually feel pretty okay, for someone who just got punched right in the face and is now bleeding from several areas of his body. “Dude, you’re a fucking idiot. Why the hell did you even punch Vriska Serket?” Dave asks, and you shrug. Again, you can’t figure out why you’d done it. If you don’t know yourself, you can’t explain it to a different someone, obviously. “You’re so stupid. We’re skipping the rest of the day so spiderbitch doesn’t get you in trouble, god, what the hell were you thinkin’?”

He puts out a hand for you to grab. You want to yell at him and tell him you can walk on your own, but honestly you’re pretty tired and your nose is still gushing so with a heavy sigh, you lock your hand in his. His shades are back on. You smile. “I’m glad I got them back before she broke them,” You say, and he looks at you like you’re a madman. “What? What, can’t a bro save his bro’s shades? Selfish, Dave.”

The blonde shakes his head. “Egderp, sometimes, I swear you’re the dumbest person I’ve ever known. You defended me like I was your damn girlfriend. If she broke my shades, I could’a bought a new pair. Did that register?” You shake your head no. No, it had not registered to you that Dave had a job and money and knew that there were several existing stores all around. You’d really thought in the moment. “Alright, well get inside my fuckin’ apartment so I can fix ya’. Jesus, Egdork. To think you’re supposedly one of the top five GPAs.”

“I’m smart!” You defend, and Dave only shakes his head, urging you into his apartment complex. With a huff, you step inside and sit down on the sofa, staring at the TV that either he or Bro had forgotten to turn off. Probably him. Dave always watches TV in the morning when he eats breakfast. No, that is not a creepy thing to know. You’d switch the channel, but by this point your knuckles are swollen beyond recognition (aka you can’t even tell they’re knuckles, they just look big and red and glass-littered) and they hurt, hurt like the time you burned your foot on a hot pan.

Dave walks off to the bathroom, and comes back with some gauze, antibiotic cream, peroxide, and tweezers. Then, he kneels in front of you and grabs your hand. You put the free one to your chest, gasping dramatically. “Yes, Dave, I’ll marry you!” And he just stares, shaking his head slowly. You laugh because goddammit, that was funny.

“Onto somethin’ else. ‘M gonna have to pick every glass shard from your hands, so you’re gonna have to sit still, or it’s gonna hurt a hell of a lot more. Got that?” He commands, and you nod. Honestly, it feels like no more than five minutes before every piece of Vriska’s glasses that had been embedded into your hands is laid on the coffee table. You think it looks gross, the shards of crimson glass that’d been in your hands sitting on a place that holds things like food, drinks, and books. The cleaning with peroxide hurts much worse, and you whimper like a little girl and are not at all ashamed by that. Shit hurts. Dave lathers both knuckles in antibiotic cream, making sure you won’t get an infection you guess, and then wraps them in gauze.

You grin. “I look awesome.”

He breathes a sigh. “You’re stupid as fuck.”

And then he tilts your face up, nodding to himself. “Bleeding stopped. This hurt?” He twits your nose to the side, and tears well in your eyes. “Guess so. I don’t think she broke it, but girl packs a hell of’a punch, I’ll tell ya’.” He cleans the blood from your face with water that you don’t remember him leaving to get, wraps gauze over your nose (at least he makes sure you can breathe) and does the same to your eye. You guess she must’ve given you a pretty bad black eye, or something. Then he pulls a glasses case from his back pocket and hands you a pair of glasses, replicas to yours.

“Dude, what the hell?” You mutter, tilting your head sideways. Dave sighs in exasperation. What? What had you done?

“You’re such a little shit. Two years ago, ya’ gave me a backup pair of glasses since you’re an accident prone dweeb, derp, dork, whatever tickles your fancy. Yes, I know, I lose pretty much everythin’ I come into contact with but I didn’t lose those. So put them on your face so we can watch a movie, alright?” He responds. You smile, ignoring the pain that shoots through your face when the glasses rest on the bridge of your nose.

Dave picks a horror movie. It’s times like this where you wonder why you’re even best friends with him. He knows you hate horror, and you can tell by the way he pushes his sunglasses up to purposely let the light glint against them that he’d done this on purpose. He wants you to be a scared little wuss, apparently. Two minutes and one jumpscare later, you’re cuddled into his side, arms wrapped around his midsection. You think you might be squeezing so hard that you’re cutting off circulation. He pulls you closer to him, arms around your neck.

You hear him laugh. You think, at least. When you look up, his expression is still stoic, revealing nothing about his mood or showing if he’d just laughed at you. “Did you just chuckle at how un-manly I am? Not cool, dude. You know I hate horror. You did this on purpose, you ass.” He smiles. This time you know he does. Well, okay, you just had an aneurysm. Your heart flutters and your stomach flips -- and oh dear god, you have a very very very homosexual crush on your best friend. Oops. He cards his fingers through your hair and his smile drops, but there’s still a ghost of one over his lips.

“Maybe I just wanted ya’ to cuddle me, ever think’a that, Egbert? You’re supposed to be in the top 5 GPAs or whatever, ain’t you? ‘Cause you aren’t too good at rational thinking, I’ll tell you.” He says, and you decide to ignore all of that and watch the movie. Twenty minutes later your knuckles have a heartbeat again, and it’s faster than the one in your chest. They hurt like the fires of hell; you can’t help the whimper that forces it way out of you, and when you feel Dave’s eyes burning a hole through your head you mutter a string of explicit words under your breath. “Hands hurt, huh?”

You nod.

A second later his hands are clasped over yours, and then with his eyes trained on the movie again he brings both of your own hands to his lips, pressing feather-light kisses to your knuckles. “Dude, what are you doing?” You sputter, a blush spreading over your cheeks that you hope isn’t noticeable but you know totally is.

“Kissin’ it better, Egdork,” He responds, matter-of-factly. “Ever heard of it?”

You huff exasperatedly. “Duh, but I’m not five, Dave. I don’t need mommy to kiss my boo-boos better, thank you very much.” Is your snippy response, but you don’t pull your hands away. Then he finally looks away from the godforsaken horror flick and lets go of your hands, opting to lift your glasses and kiss your covered eye, and then the tip of your nose. Your face is burning worse than the wounds are. He looks pleased with himself, despite the fact that his expression hasn’t changed. Maybe it’s just his aura? Yeah, probably. There’s a shift in the air.

“Well, um--” You pause. Don’t you dare back down now, John Egbert. You flirt with this boy and you do it right goddamned now. “My lips also hurt. She uh, she punched me pretty hard, you know? I think you need to kiss them better. That’s a good idea, yeah, I think it’s pretty good of an--” Rambling like an idiot. Again. You stop yourself in the process, just cutting off in the middle of a statement that was going nowhere fast. You look down at your wrapped hands.

Dave chuckles. “Really, now? Yeah, I think ya’d benefit from that.”

And then his lips are on yours.

Dear god, have you died and gone to heaven? Obviously. Because Dave Strider, the coolest kid in the entire ninth grade, would never kiss you if you were alive. You are very convinced that you’re currently in heaven, your own personal one. He pulls back and pushes his glasses up, and you see his eyes and finally realize why he always keeps them covered. Not only are they red, but every emotion he feels flashes across them. Right now, there’s happiness swimming in them. “You wanna know why Vriska always picked on me, ya’ naive little fucker?”

You giggle. It isn’t really funny, also he insulted you. “Sure.”

“Because she knew you liked me,” He replies. “And I liked you. So she knew she wasn’t gettin’ a piece of Egbert, and she went pissy bitchy mode and decided that if she hated me we could avoid all of this. It didn’t work out for her, obviously. Honestly, I didn’t think ya’d ever have the balls to punch her square in the face, though. And twice? Damn, maybe you’re a little feisty one inside, Egdork.”

You cross your arms, but laugh again. “Well I do, Dave! Gosh, do you think I’d let somebody break your shades, even if you can buy a new pair? Geez. I’ll have you know I’m a very good best friend, sir.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sure you’d be an even better boyfriend.”

You pause. Had he just asked you to be his boyfriend? No, nah, nada -- he’s straighter than straight, than a line, than-- “I can see the wheels turnin’, Egbert. I’m not straight and I did just ask you to be my boyfriend, so can you pass this shit and just say yes? You agreed to marry me earlier, anyway.”

A blush flourishes again. Dammit. “It was a joke!” You protest. Dave raises an eyebrow, and you huff out a sigh. “Okay, fine, yes. I’ll be your boyfriend. Can we not watch the rest of the horror movie, now?”

He laughs. “No can do. You’ll have to bury your face in my chest to escape all the scary shit, ‘cause I’m finishing this fuckin’ movie.”

And you do.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my tenth JohnDave work on here, I'm not ashamed.
> 
> Okay, so I have so much shit to update. Here's how it's going down.
> 
> I don't have school on Monday. I'm going shopping with buds tomorrow, and to see Poltergeist on Sunday. I'll be writing where I can fit it, so I'll try to update all three stories over this holiday weekend. No promises!


End file.
